Torres del Paine

A blog post by Adam. We finished the "W" hike in Torres del Paine on Sunday, March 30. I've written about Valle Frances and the mice, and still there is much more to say. It was a fantastic six day hike. Yet, rather than write any more, I've decided to post a picture of the torres (towers) at sunrise on our final day in the park (one of the few pictures I have on the iPad). It doesn't come close to actually capturing the scene, but it's still better than my droll ramblings...

Sunrise on the Torres del Paine

Mighty Mouse

A blog post by Adam. How did Mickey Mouse become a super celebrity? Of all the animals to be the icon of a global empire, a mouse seems, well, rather mousy. This is the third thought that enters your mind after you are awoken in Torres del Paine by a mouse running across your head while you are sleeping.

The first thought is OMG, a mouse just skitted across my cranium and I'm probably going to die. The second thought is, I'm not going to die, but for some reason that tiny creature scares the crap out of me and Melissa needs to get it out of our tent as soon as possible (this is where you proceed to screech in horror, curl into a ball, and cover your head with your sleeping bag, and Melissa calmly escorts the mouse out of the tent). It is after this, that you start cursing the mouse and Walt Disney at the same time.

How do I know this? Because it happened to us on our first and third nights at Torres del Paine (on our second and fourth nights we slept in the safety of mountain refuges). We were warned ahead of time and we therefore hung all of our food outside the tent, but it didn't matter. The mice still chewed a hole through our tent and then a small hole in the dry bag with my clothes (perhaps because they smelled so sweet). For the record, we accidentally did leave a chap stick in the tent that first night and the mice chewed a second hole and pulled it out of the tent, but were unable to penetrate it's hard casing - we found it the following morning next to the tent door with bite marks in its lid. On the second night of mice adventures, the mice fortunately used the same hole that the first mouse had created, so while it destroyed any chance of deep sleep it did not further destroy our home. On our last night camping, we covered the hole with masking tape and either that or the horrible stench of our clothes (which had been drenched in sweat, mud and rain for several continuous days) kept the critters away.

Melissa claims the mice were cute. She also claims that dogs are our friends. So what is it - are mice tiny little fur balls just doing what they can to survive in a brutal environment or are they tent-eating, face-romping scoundrels who terrorize to no end? You be the judge. 

A valley shrouded only in rumors

A blog post by Adam. It was day three of our hike through Torres del Paine National Park in Chile. We woke up to rainy, cloudy weather. One of our bunk mates (we were staying in a dorm room at one of the park's refuges) notified us that they had heard that due to the weather it was possible that Valle Frances (our destination) might be closed. Without much of a backup plan, and potentially seven and a half hours of hiking ahead of us, we decided we couldn't wait for the clouds to break.

The hike was wet, particularly when we reached a spot in the trail where a stream had swollen into a small pond of ankle deep water covering the entire path. We peeled off our shoes and socks, pulled up our pants, and waded through ice cold water. As we sat at the far edge of the pond, reapplying our socks and shoes, a couple hikers unhappily came down the trail. They said they too had planned to go to Valle Frances but had turned around when they discovered the trail was closed. Still without much of a backup plan, we marched onward hoping that perhaps by the time we arrived the trail would be reopened.

An hour later we arrived at the ranger cabin at the base of the Valle Frances trailhead with no sign that the trail was closed. We figured perhaps it had reopened, but the first person we saw said that yes indeed the trail was closed an hour from the base (the end of the trail, with amazing views of the entire valley lay 2.5 hours from the ranger station). We then asked the ranger, who said the trail was open all the way. Strange, we thought. We consulted one more group of hikers after talking to the ranger and they too confirmed that you could only go an hour up the trail. We figured an hour was still better than nothing, and after setting up our tent for the night, we set out on the trail.

Just at this moment, the clouds broke, the sky turned blue, and the sun shown bright. The storm was over and it was a new day. We continued up the trail for an hour to the first viewpoint - perhaps the most beautiful viewpoint I've ever seen. In front of us was a massive mountain with glaciers and waterfalls in every direction. To our right was a mountain with various layers of rocks. Behind us were a series of lakes with mountains in the background. With blue sky and the sun beaming down, it was amazing.

We looked around for trail closure signs, but saw nothing. We continued on, coming across someone we had met earlier on the trail. We asked him about the trail closure and he commented that you could get within a kilometer of the end. And so on we hiked. Until, as it turned out, the end of the trail. There was a sign that in some distant past the trail may have continued for another kilometer, but that old trail wasn't on any map, and it wasn't clear where it even began. What we found was just as incredible as the lower viewpoint...a cathedral of peaks surrounding us with a truly magnificent 360 degree view. We tried to take pictures, but it was impossible to capture. For more than 30 minutes we sat there in awe.

As it turned out, it was the sunniest afternoon we had thus far during our time in Patagonia, and we had seen the most incredible views of our lives. The constant talk of trail closures had all proved to be false. But how quickly the rumors had spread...how many people had given up on the French Valley because of the rumors? If we too had turned back and told others what we had heard how many more might have avoided the French Valley on the most perfect afternoon. The French Valley blew me away, but so did the power of rumors. I guess you really can't believe everything you hear, and in this case it was hard to believe what we saw - the most stunning valley in the most rare of Patagonian weather.

A backpack in Los Glaciares, a lost hiker and a doppelgänger

A blog post by Melissa. Our trip started out very straightforward. We flew down to El Calafate to use as a starting point for some backpacking in Patagonia. We pieced together meals of desiccated cashews that had somehow made the long journey to Patagonia, puffed rice bars (which turned out being delicious) and some weird and bitter dried fig walnut squares (which turned out being the food that we only ate when we were desperate). We found cans of tuna as well, and had an argument in the store about whether to buy the cheapest can or the more pricey can that looked ten times better and claimed to be dolphin safe (you be the judge of who was arguing for price and who argued for quality). Like I said, this was all very standard. But our journey into Parque Nacional Los Glaciares proved to have a series of pleasant surprises and strange events. 

 

When we arrived in El Chalten, the gateway to Parque Nacional Los Glaciares, our hostel host told us that we needed to get on the trail immediately and come back to the hostel the next day because there was a big storm rolling in. He said this as his heavy metal music videos were playing in the background, but he seemed to really know what he was talking about when it came to weather. We trusted him. Any guy who let's you cancel your reservation to get better weather camping has got to be trustworthy. We proceeded to frantically sort our things and pack up, including the compromise of one can cheap tuna and one can dolphin safe tuna "steak." Amazingly, we got out on the trail in an hour and a half. 

 

For the rest of our hike we were constantly asking about weather and just missing all the major wind and rain storms at each site we visited. We had an amazingly clear view of Fitz Roy, the star of the show in the park. Each turn we took looked like a fantasy land with grasses of all colors and big open plains laced with black and white granite cliffs. We even saw three condors soaring high above it all. 

Mt. Fitz Roy

The next day, as we walked out, Fitz Roy was covered in clouds and big winds rolled in with daunting clouds. The trees were literally bending back and forth and cracking in the strong winds as we hiked down the trail as fast as we could. We arrived back in El Chalten to find our friendly rocker host again, listening to Guns-n-Roses. He had kindly stored our things and had a room waiting for us.

That night, we met a Korean man who had travelled extensively to Peru, Bolivia and Argentina. He did this because ever since he was a child he had been obsessed with condors and has wanted to see one in the wild. In all his travels, he still hadn't seen his beloved condors. It was so hard to believe the rarity of seeing even one since we had seen three during our hike and didn't even think anything of it. We felt extremely lucky. We also felt lucky that we overnighted the storm in the hostel. It was a bad one. The wind was whipping on the windows and splashing sheets of rain on the side of the house, while we were cozy in our dorm room.

The next day, we headed out on a three day trek to Cerro Torre. We had very clear (and cold) weather. We saw numerous rainbows and a beach of ice cubes on a lakeshore. We ran into practically everyone we met going to Fitz Roy a couple days earlier who regaled us with stories of how they survived the tempest. We again felt so thankful for all these wonderful experiences. 

 

Cerro Torre and its surroundings

On our final day, we encountered a woman who had gotten lost and was miles away from the trail she wanted to be on. We tried to point her in the right direction, but she refused to leave our sides. From her accent I think she was Chilean, but we never really found out, she wasn't interested much in talking. She proceeded to walk at a lightening pace and insist that we keep up with her because she didn't want to be alone. Adam and I had heavy packs and we were fatigued from multiple long days of  hiking. She began to get impatient with us, beating her walking stick on the ground. She told use that she had a tour bus to catch. Finally she gave up and walked ahead when we again explained the path she needed to take. We asked other people on the trail if they had seen her and they assured us they had and that she was heading in the right direction.

Then just as we thought the series of strange events was ending, we encountered a Doppelgänger of my friend Curran on our bus ride to our next destination, Puerto Natales, Chile. When I say doppelgänger, I mean I thought this guy was him. I was so totally caught off guard that after talking with him for a bit (he was from Germany and had never heard of Curran), I asked him where he was going although we were all on a bus headed to the same destination. I'm sure I made a great first impression, first ogling at him, then taking his picture so Curran could see his doppelgänger, then asking him where he was headed when we were on the same bus. Brilliant.

All in all, we loved our time in Los Glaciares, especially the series of strange events. We were lucky with the amazing views, our health and safety, the weather, but the other people that we met gave the trip a Twilight Zone twist. What will the Chilean side of Patagonia hold? Stay tuned.

Three stops in Buenos Aires

A blog post by Adam. We had one night in Buenos Aires between Argentina's two greatest destinations - Iguazu Falls in the northeast and Patagonia in the southwest. We had to change money and we had plans to celebrate Purim (Jewish Halloween with Queen Esther as the star), but otherwise it was going to be a quiet evening.

We changed money and on the way back to the hostel encountered an international food festival. Sourh America and Europe were well represented. The DR was present, selling something that looked nothing like Dominican food and more like fajitas (perhaps they were trying to compete with Mexico, among the most popular of all the booths). In case you're wondering, the U.S. Was not present with either hamburgers or french fries, although Burger King and McDonald's were only blocks away. 

From there we made our first official visit of the evening - a stop at the home of the Padillas. We were there to deliver a letter from Post Office Bay in the Galapagos. It is here where sailors and pirates historically left notes for other boats to deliver to loved ones at home on those rare occasions when a passing boat may have been on its way to the homeland. Today, tourists (like us) leave notes for people to deliver to others from their homeland. We searched all the letters but found nothing destined for Washington. Instead we found a letter for Buenos Aires and decided to deliver it during our brief stay in Argentina. As it turned out, the recipient of the letter wasn't too far from our hostel, so on our way back to the hostel from the food fair, we stopped at the Padillas.

Stop one. The mother of the Padilla homestead and three of her four children were at home. Their home was impressive...in the middle of the city, large, and with its own outdoor courtyard. Apparently the mother and father, both doctors, had been at Post Office Bay only days before us. We talked about our different trips to the Galapagos, and then moved on to different topics, such as Argentinian and Cuban health care systems (one of the Padilla daughters who is a medical student had done a rotation in Cuba). They served us coffee and before we knew it more than an hour had passed. Only when the medical student daughter got up to go to mass did we remember that we too needed to get to Purim services. We ran to the supermarket, bought some things for dinner, cooked quickly and headed off to services.

Stop two. We arrived at services over an hour late, and missed the telling of the story of Esther, but made it in time for a Purim play. There were so many youth and so much life in the room. People had on all sorts of costumes, and Melissa didn't pass up the opportunity for a face painting. It was a wonderful scene, and quite the contrast from the calm Catholic Padilla home.

Melissa with face paint.

Stop three. When the party wound down at about ten, we boarded the subway back to our hostel's neighborhood. We were just blocks from the hostel when we came upon Santo Domingo Restaurant. As we peared in the window, one of the customers came to the door and told us to come in. The owner was Dominican, as was the man who encouraged us to enter the restaurant. Before we knew it we were sitting at this man's table sharing beers. It felt strangely comfortable to be I the company of overly warm and welcoming Dominicans. Just like in the DR there was plenty of laughing and joking, and even a little bachata dancing. Amazingly it wasn't until more than hour into our time together that one of the Dominicans asked Melissa what was painted on her face - as we were momentarily transported to the DR, we forget that just slightly earlier we had been celebrating Purim. We finally pulled ourselves away from this small slice of the DR at about midnight and lumbered back to our hostel before our morning flight to Patagonia.

As we got ready for bed, we marveled at how we had stepped through three different Buenos Aires worlds in one night. Once again, this beautiful Souh American metropolis had shown us that its people, natives and immigrants alike, far outshined its beautiful buildings.

Falls and Family

A blog post by Adam. For somewhere between 30 and 40 years my father has dreamed of going to Igauzu Falls on the border of Argentina and Brazil. And so as he neared his 70th birthday he decided that was he wanted most to mark seven decades - a trip to Igauzu Falls. When we decided to travel to Latin America it made perfect sense to meet in Argentia to celebrate with my father (although about 9 months after his actual birthday). Thus, the decision to come to Argentina, along with Mina, Jorge, and my parents.

Iguazu Falls is on at least one list of the seven wonders of the world (as it turns out there are many lists, some of which have incredibly surprising entries). Without a doubt it is deserving of such an honor. The falls are seeminglingly endless, one after another, creating a wall of water beyond the imagination (and for now, you too will have to imagine it because I don't have access to any of our pictures).

We spent two and half days in the national park on the Argentinian side with the family (to get into Brazil we would have had to apply for a visa and pay a bunch of money and this seemed far too much for just one day...also, there isn't nearly as much to see on the Brazilian side as on the Argentian side). We pretty much saw everything there was to see. We did every hike the park had to offer, the park's two boat trips, one of which takes you right under the falls, and a drive through the forest looking for animals (with almost no animal sightings). Melissa and I actually stayed one additional night and visited the falls by moonlight, which was its own incredible experience.

In the end, however what made the trip special was being with family. Traveling in family as a child is a given for most American childhoods, as are the backseat squabbles among siblings that accompany these trips. But traveling to interesting places in family as adults is something far more rare. With busy adult lives mearly scheduling a trip is challenging, but in some cases I think having the desire to do so is equally elusive. With our limited vacation time and limited budgets it isn't easy or sometimes possible to decide to spend such valuable resources traveling with family. Aside from traveling to Bolivia, Guyana, and the Dominican Republic to visit Mina, I believe this is the only time I have traveled with my parents as an adult (not including trips to weddings, reunions and other family events in the US). And it isn't clear if such a trip will happen again. Which made this such a special experience. All of us, as adults, were exploring unchartered territories. Together we tried Yerba Mate for the first time. Together we met previously unknown family. Together we got drenched in the spray of Iguazu, and road a boat just above the falls. Together we ate a lot of dulce de leche ice cream. Together we had some good laughs as well as more serious conversations; the kind of conversations that could only take place because we are all adults.

Ultimately, I feel incredibly lucky to have a family with whom I have the desire to vacation and that in spite of my annoying ways we all seem to get along. And I feel lucky that I was able to take advantage of this rare opportunity. As with our time with Mina, this may not happen again, but I can be sure that whenever I hear the name Iguazu I will remember family as much as I remember falls.

Matelandia

A blog post by Adam. Mate is a plant that makes a bitter and somewhat potent tea. I had tried it once or twice in the U.S. and knew it was from South America. Nothing, however, would prepare me for mate Uruguayan-style. Despite the fact that Uruguay is the first nation in the world to legalize marijuana, the only pot we saw while visiting was the little mate pot (accompanied of course by a thermos of hot water and a bombillo, a metal straw for sipping from the little pot).

On our first day in Montevideo, Urugauy's capital and biggest city, we headed out to a crafts market and walk along the River de la Plata. The crafts market was bustling and the river walk was beautiful, but what most shocked us was the mate. Everyone, I mean everyone, was walking with their thermos and mate. Uruguayans were drinking mate like most humans breathe oxegyn....it was that out of control. Unfortunately, the proof is stored on a computer now in the U.S. Check back in a month for photos of Uruaguayans sucking mate down like there's no tomorrow, as well as a bonus pic of a man with his mate holster (you gotta see it to believe it).

The next day we too gathered around to test it out. And you know what? According to those with Halpern and Weiner genes, it was pretty nasty. It was bitter and hot, although using the metal straw was kind of fun. For some reason, both Melissa and Jorge liked it. For the sake of the rest of us, we eventually had to add some sugar, which helped. Still, it didn't taste like a Dominican shake. How we long for our tropical fruit smoothies...

Buenos Aires and Family

A blog post by Adam. In most of the countries we have visited, we have spent time with family. In Israel we spent time with my mom's second cousin, big Mina. In the DR we had little Mina, my sister. In Ecuador we stayed with my host family. And as it turns out, Argentina has been no exception. Here we met another second cousin of my mom, Ana.

For years my mother talked about family in South America...how one of her mother's sisters left Europe for Montevideo, whereas my grandmother's mother came to the U.S. from Europe. Apparently there was some communication between my great grandmother and her sibling in South America, but when my great grandmother was killed at a young age in a traffic accident, all contact between our families was lost. Until now.

Through big Mina we located Miguel, an offspring of the Montevideo great great aunt. Miguel had moved to Israel about twenty years ago, and through him we connected with his sister Ana, who had moved to Argentina about 30 years ago. As it happened, Ana's mother (who was the widow of our bloodline) happened to be visiting from Montevideo so everyone was in Argentina during our time here. Ana, Elena (Ana's mother), Daniela (Ana's daughter, who also lives in Buenos Aires), and Daniela's one year old daughter (Ana's granddaughter).

We first met Ana, her partner (her first husband died many years ago), and Elena, at the historic Cafe Tortoni - Buenos Aires' oldest cafe. We attempted to sort our shared history, we filled each other in about our lives, and we talked a bit of politics. Ana shared how she had been to Punta Cana, which is just an hour from where Mina lives. She and her partner Gianni also discussed how they supported Cristina, Argentina's left leaning populist president. This was the first time we had met a middle-class Ecuadorian or Argentine who supported a leftist government (Ecuador's president Correa is also a left leaning populist). As representatives of America's liberal middle-class we quickly felt at home (it should be noted, however, that neither Ana nor Gianni can vote in Argentina...Gianni came to Argentina from Italy when he was two and maintains Italian citizenship, whereas Ana is still Uruguayan). Things went so well with our new-found relatives that they invited us over for Shabbat dinner on Friday.

Multiple generations, multiple continents...Ana, Mina, my mom, Elena (Ana's mom), and Melissa

Between our initial encounter and Shabbat I had a chance to reflect on our family reunification. To think our ancestors left Europe not knowing if they would ever see family again. My great grandmother to the U.S. And my great great aunt to Uruguay. A hundred years passed. People lost European languages and gained new (but different) American tongues. People died and babies were born and as five generations progressed our lives moved farther and farther apart. And then because of planes, and email, and a 70th birthday (more about this later) we were together again. Could our relatives ever have imagined we would be sharing Shabbat together in 100 years?

At dinner we met Ana's daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter, and Elena also joined us. It wasn't your traditional Shabbat dinner with pepperoni pizza (made by Gianni) and no blessings, yet like our secular Shabbat in Israel, it felt so comfortable to be with family. Buenos Aires is an incredibly beautiful city but what we experienced there in English, Mexican Spanish, Uruguayan Spanish, Argentinian Spanish, Dominicanized Spanish,  Spanglish, and baby sounds, was more beautiful than any building, monument, or park; it was the human interaction that has the ability to overcome cultural differences (as well as reveal cultural similarities, such as politics) and reunite long lost and distant relatives. No doubt, it was the tastiest pepperoni pizza I had ever had on Shabbat.

Fear

A blog post by Adam. For Christmas, our Santo Domingo host family invited us to their home for the traditional Christmas Eve dinner. It was quite a production. We arrived at their house on the afternoon of the 24th, attended mass from 7:00-8:30, and then made our way to our host brother's home for the actual meal. More than twenty family members were present, ranging in age from two-years-old to over 70. We hung out for a few hours, and at 10:30 pm joined around an elegantly decorated table for a feast of bread, turkey, sweet potato casserole, some sort of pork dish, and an amazing grape salad. We then hung out for a couple more hours, until 1:30 am, when a four year old threw up after eating a couple pounds of candy while running around endlessly with his cousins (bedtime is pretty flexible in the DR for adults and kids alike).

The following morning we had a relaxing breakfast with our host family before heading back to La Romana in the early afternoon. In the end, it was our morning together that was the most enlightening part of the trip. As we sat in their living room our host mother recounted stories of robberies and attempted robberies, of her daughter being held up, and of murders for money. It was frightening, but not a new experience.  Over and over we had heard of people who had been robbed, often for cell phones. A coworker who lived in our same apartment building was afraid to walk the streets at night, and various other Dominicans we met regularly walked the streets in fear.  Fear was such a normal part of every day life.

Such had also been the case in Israel, but there it was a different kind of fear. Among Jewish Israelis there was a fear of Palestinians and particularly of the neighboring Arab nations. Most of the Israelis we met had no trust in their Arab neighbors. Likewise, the few Palestinians we talked to only had mistrust for Israelis. Similar to the DR, people seemed to go about their day to day lives under a cloud of fear.

More recently, in Ecuador, we were repeatedly warned of theft and of how we should be particularly careful when getting into taxis and buses. Robberies in taxis had become so common that many taxis now have security cameras and panic buttons for passengers' safety. Given all of the warnings we felt ourselves constantly looking over our shoulder, constantly wary of the people around us. And in fact my host sister was robbed during our stay - she and a friend were in restaurant near the university where they study when a man entered with a weapon and demanded their cell phones. Carolina lost nearly a thousand pictures, and also lost some confidence in venturing beyond her home.

Three very different countries all gripped by fear. Even in the US, most of which generally seems safe, Michael Moore posited that we live in a culture of fear in the movie "Bowling for Columbine". Fear is undoubtedly a normal human emotion, but I wonder if ever in human history have so many people lived with constant fear of others so much of the time. During our short time in Israel, the Dominican Republic, and Ecuador we spent valuable energy looking out for ourselves, attempting to temper our fear. I can only imagine how it must be to live in fear for a lifetime; for a healthy dose of fear to be a daily feeling. It seems that if we could convert all the energy spent being fearful of one another into energy spent on addressing the root causes of crime and conflict, we might be better off. Instead, sadly, it seems that our fear only immobilizes us.

Infected

A blog post by Adam. Living in the tropics, it was bound to happen. About a week before we left the DR, a long-time fat ball (i.e. a cyst) under my skin got infected. I use the passive voice intentionally because I have no idea how it happened. It's just a hazard of residing on a Caribbean island. All I know is it tripled in size, turned red, and started to hurt like hell.

Since I was working like mad to complete my magnum opus (a fifty page business plan in Spanish that likely made no sense and was based on absolutely no business training), I had no time to go to the doctor. Finally, the day before we left the DR we stopped by the Clinic's medical director's home, and she said it needed to be treated. At home with almost no supplies, she did her best to drain the infection with a syringe and also prescribed a week's worth of antibiotics. Consultation fee: Free. Medications: $7.00.

Despite my religious adherence to the antibiotics things didn't get any better in Cuba. After several days of continued growth we decided to go to the doctor once again, this time in a tiny country town where we were staying. We showed up at the clinic and after a short wait, the doctor brought us in. Though she appeared to have reached the legal American drinking age only weeks prior, she seemed competent enough, prescribing a second antibiotic (to be taken in addition to the first one) as well as hot compresses to try to pull the pus out of the infection. Consultation fee: Free. Medications: $0.16.

On to Quito and my host family. Despite the fact that I had completed the first round of antibiotics (500 mg of Cephalexin twice per day), was almost done with the second round (500 mg of Ciproflaxin three times per day) and had applied plenty of hot compresses, the infection persisted. I therefore consulted with my former host mom, an RN. She thought it might be best to open up the infection and completely drain it, but without much time before a trip to the Galapagos, she instead loaned me an antiseptic wash and some sort of antibiotic cream. Consultation: Free. Medication: Free. 

Unfortunately, the antiseptic wash burned my skin (perhaps because I was too lazy to dilute it as the label instructed) and the cream did nothing. Thus, I arrived in the Galapagos with a still festering infection. I decided to consult our ship doctor (who others referred to as the "butcher"), and she said the time for antibiotics alone had passed. Someone needed to open it up and drain it. There were no other options. Consultation Fee: Free. Medications: None.

Finally back in Quito, we decided we'd had enough. We went to the emergency room and I had the infected fat ball removed. Luckily, Melissa inquired about anesthesia just before the doctor was about to cut me open, which sort of reduced the excruciating pain. And then it was gone. The doctor prescribed a third antibiotic (Dicloxacilina) and Tylenol (due to high rates of dengue fever, you can only get Tylenol and Ibuprofen with a prescription because too many people with dengue were taking over-the-counter pain meds, which reduced symptoms and caused infected folks not to seek treatment...antibiotics on the other hand are widely available without a prescription). He also took a culture of the infection. and informed me he would email me the results so that I could get follow up treatment in Argentina (we were leaving in two days). Consultation Fee: $70.00. Medications: $4.00.

We've now been in Argentina for a few days and I've heard nothing from the doctor, but I'm not too worried. The pus is gone, and after spending $81.16 for five consultations in three countries, I think I'm cured. That is, until the next infection. Which reminds me, not everything has been 100% in the bathroom...

Growing up

A blog post by Adam. 16 years ago I went to Ecuador to learn Spanish. I had not returned since. Well, believe it or not, Ecuador has changed.

As one might expect, the country seems far more developed than it did in the late 90s. There are more big buildings, and many more cars, which has resulted in a 3,564,348% increase in traffic. There is a new airport which is very nice but unfortunately is located 30km from the city (and due to current traffic patterns it takes about 1.5 hours or more to get into the city from the airport). There are now tons of bike lanes throughout the city and free bikes that anyone can use to get around town. The historic center of the city, with some buildings dating back nearly 500 years, seems far cleaner and more beautiful than it did when I last visited it. And the highways that connect Quito with other major cities are newly expanded and more comfortable than in the past. Yes, Ecuador has grown up.

Yet, far more than any of these changes, the change that most impacted me was the growth in my host family. My host parents actually seemed comfortingly familiar - my host father Renato retained his talkative and joking personality, full of wonderful stories and intelligent insights on Ecuador and life in general, whereas my host mom Dayana was still the incredibly attentive, loving, thoughtful, and helpful mother everyone deserves. The difference was the new additions and absences.

Carolina, my three year old host sister, was now 19 and she also had a 15 year old brother, Renato Sebastian, and an 11 year old sister, Maria Paz. Meanwhile, Dayana's father, who lived next door when I shared the house with Renato, Dayana, and Carolina, had since passed away, leaving Dayana's mother alone with her new dog Nico in the adjoining house. It was strange to experience so many changes all at once, to feel the passing of 16 years of life in an instant.
 

With Carolina during my first visit to Ecuador (on the day of her baptism).

For me the most impressive transformation was that of Carolina. When I last saw her, she had been an energetic, intelligent and mischievous only child. She continued to emanate positive energy and her intelligence hadn't faded, but she certainly was no longer a mischevious toddler. From the moment she first came up to our room on the first day we arrived, she was warm and interested in learning about Melissa and reconnecting with me. She was a university student, passionate about running a fashion business after graduating. She was an older sister, who passed time joking with her sister in the car and her brother in his bedroom. She was a highly fashionable young woman with a driver's license. Ultimately, she wasn't exactly the person I remembered, even if her face held hints of her preciously tiny and cute former self.



With Carolina on our recent visit to Lake Cuicocha, high in the Ecuadorian Andes.

While her seemingly dramatic transformation from 3 years old to 19 made me feel old, it also made me happy to see such wonderful growth. Her loving parents and grandparents had clearly contributed to her progress. They talked so proudly about all of their children and I could see their impact both in Carolina and her intelligent, fun, and kind younger siblings. Still, she too had worked hard (and apparently overcome the usual adolescents challenges) to become a young adult that would make any parent proud. It was a rare opportunity to see how small children turn into adults, how people change, and how with support we all have the potential to become our best selves. In such a supportive family, Carolina was becoming her best self, and also proving to me that although seeing a city and country grow up is terrific, nothing is more remarkable than witnessing a child grow up into an adult.